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That instant it dawned on me my life was in danger arrived during my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My best friend, Helen, and I were on our way to Blackburn to catch up with an old university friend who had made a new home there for work. Delighted to be together, and basking in the prospect of the party weekend ahead, we conversed constantly as we made our way by train from York.

We placed our luggage – full of essentials such as wine bottles and the clogs I had just bought – on the overhead rack and made ourselves comfortable in a snug pair of seats. Roughly halfway through our journey, I was faintly cognizant of a bang. Then came another, this time impossible to ignore. Someone cried out as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like a delayed sequence. All at once, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, vision blocked, I waited for the carriage to roll over and burst into flames, like in the movies. I remember thinking our relatives and companions getting the news. That's when the sound of the child sobbing.

“It's going to be fine,” I murmured, my tone was hoarse. “The worst has passed,” I stated, mostly for my own benefit.

She was about seven or eight years old, and seemed to be entirely alone. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; this was my opportunity to be useful. I went to where she was standing and put my arm around her. “Don't turn around,” Helen called out, too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A large metallic item had smashed through the window behind us. Later, we learned a uncontrolled excavator had tumbled down the embankment and collided with the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our compartment was trapped with its leading section elevated. Following that came of sirens and another traveler requested that I to pass the little girl to him so he could help her out the window, as kids were being rescued to fire crews on standby. A few minutes later, Helen and I were likewise scrambling out of the train window and scaling a ladder down on to the track.

Back on terra firma – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – my body started to shake uncontrollably. I searched for the little girl and watched her mother gather her up, as it transpired had been using the restroom during the incident. A firefighter kindly retrieved my clogs. Another traveler plonked down on Helen’s case, making it split apart – however, fortunately our wine stayed unbroken. Following a 30-minute delay, we proceeded in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had broken Helen’s case. Our host was there, ashen-faced. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and prepared some tea for her while she hoped for information.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we put the train crash to one side and proceeded with the social outing, which featured a unforgettable performance by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, despite the fact that several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I escaped with bruises and soreness and discomfort from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. The train had been slowing to come into Leeds station, which had been the key factor in averting grave physical damage. The fact that nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Attending to her and soothing her distracted me from my own fear and taught me the worth of focusing on others in a crisis. As time passed, I have frequently pondered if she had any memory of the event, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for thirty-plus years and That location's name now symbolizes for our capacity to handle whatever comes, provided we have each other. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was shielded against the worst of the situation. The derailment further transformed the way I approach other types of crises, giving me perspective – and reminding me that, regardless of how terrible things look, it remains a gift to age.